


His Fault in Her Scars

by alxxiis



Series: I Don't Use That Title Much [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:37:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3833863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alxxiis/pseuds/alxxiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, I did make a corny title influenced by a super sad movie/book that I’ve never seen/read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Fault in Her Scars

“Shit,” Hawke breathed in sympathetic astonishment as he stood holding the pavilion’s flap open. The glow of the setting sun mixed with the pale hue emitting from the healer’s hands and the lanterns set out on the various tables, one of which held Corinne’s sitting figure. Her back was to him, completely bare save for her breast band; the faint freckles splattered across her back and shoulders were interrupted by a few bruises from their earlier sparring, as well as a vast amount of pink and white scars, varying in size and depth. His eyes followed every welt, every divot, every mar, completely fixated on the image before him; that is, until the view was twisted and the owner’s voice spoke.

“Hawke?” Corinne waved away the healer and swung her legs over to the opposite side of the table to face him. Her eyes ran down the length of him, looking for any indication that he was injured; she furrowed her brow when she found none. “What are you doing here?”

He closed his mouth, not realizing it had been partially agape, and after moving to allow the healer to leave, he took a few steps forward until he was just a short distance in front of her. The sunlight disappeared as the flap fluttered shut, leaving the two in the flickering light of the lanterns which reflected off her hazel eyes, illuminating the yellow undertones. “I was looking for you actually,” he replied, forcing his tone to be lighthearted despite the pity he held for her. His signature smirk spread across his face with his words, “I figured you owed me a drink for nearly blowing me up today.”

A soft scoff vibrated in her throat as she pushed herself down from the table. “I nearly blew you up? You did just as much damage to me as I did to you.” She grabbed her shirt and began pulling one sleeve up her right arm. “Tell you what. I’ll buy you a drink if you buy me a drink,” she offered, matching his grin with one of her own. Her movements slowed as her right arm dressed the other; the smile fell and an involuntarily groan escaped from her.

Hawke reached out, but stopped, unsure of what to do or what was wrong. “And here I thought I only left you with a bruise or two,” he said, deflecting his worry with humor. “Do you need any help?”

“Ha, you don’t get credit for this,” she remarked, pointing to her right shoulder. “And no, I’ve got it. I just… I can do it.” Her fingers rolled the hem of the shirt up to the collar and slowly lifted it up; a wince replaced her smile and in a poor attempt to hide her reaction from Hawke, she turned back around toward the table.

Even if he hadn’t noticed her pained expression, her struggled movements were obvious enough. He gently gripped her right elbow and held it in place while his free hand took hold of the wad of fabric between her hands. 

“I said I can do it,” she insisted but put forth no further effort to deny his help.

He chuckled and shook his head even though she couldn’t see it. “Why is it that all the women I know are so stubborn?” After tugging the shirt a few times, she released her grip and allowed him to pull it down the length of her back, hiding the disfigured skin. His knuckles brushed against her spine, sending a shiver through her body and raising small bumps against his hand.

“Maybe you just bring out their very best.” Her left arm fell to her side, but the other remained in his grasp; carefully, he lowered it until it too was perpendicular to the ground. “Thanks,” she muttered grudgingly. 

“Now, was that so hard?” he teased, prodding her with his elbow.

With a harsh shove, she warned, “Keep being an ass and you’re not getting that drink.”

Hawke let out a laugh and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, “Alright, alright. I’ll keep on my best behavior just for you.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet.” She allowed him to lead her out of the healing tent and through the courtyard; a few lingering glances followed the pair into the tavern, whispering amongst themselves. The residents of Skyhold always seemed to cling onto the tiniest bit of gossip-worthy information they could, and if there was none to be found, they’d create it. Numerous rumors about her supposed interest shared between her and her companions and advisors had already run rampant through Cullen’s forces. Soon, she’d be hearing about the romantic exploits she and Hawke shared after such a sexually-fueled sparring match. She scoffed inwardly and rolled her eyes before swinging the tavern door shut behind them.

They settled in at the bar and ordered ale for each other. The bard’s lute and voice carried over the conversations in the tavern; Corinne listened and tapped her fingers against the wooden counter in time with the music. She’d never understand why so many complained about Maryden; her songs were entertaining and her voice was captivating. 

“Here you go,” the dwarf behind the counter announced, dropping two mugs in front of them.

Corinne waved a quick thanks to the barkeep before taking a drawn out swig of her drink. She finished with a satisfied sigh and placed it back down, “I needed that.”

Hawke smiled into his mug before putting it next to hers, “So, Inquisitor-”

“No.”

“You have no idea what I was going to say!” he laughed.

She shook her head, “Don’t call me ‘Inquisitor.’ Call me ‘Corinne,’ and try again.”

“Right. Sorry. So,  _Corinne_ ,” he began, fixing his previous error, “You’ve done quite a number on your back and shoulder. Can I ask how?” Normally, he would’ve kept his curiosity quiet, but she hadn’t seemed embarrassed or concerned about covering up when he entered the healer’s tent. He regretted his words, however, when he noticed her tense up at the question. “You don’t have to-”

“No, it’s fine,” she assured. “It’s just… I don’t know. I try not to think about the injuries; I wasn’t exactly having that great of a time when it happened.” She had pushed them so far out of her mind, she never thought about them any longer; she didn’t even know what they looked like. Her healer offered a looking glass, but Corinne didn’t want to see; ignorance was bliss, right? “I’m guessing they look awful, otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked.”

He wished he could take back the question. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything, but wonder won over his sense of judgement; it always did. “Really, Corinne, I’m not going to die of curiosity if you don’t tell me.”

She raised a brow and looked over at him, “Are you sure? You’d end up asking Varric anyway.” A melancholic chuckle broke up her words before she continued. “After we closed the Breach, Haven was attacked by Corypheus, but I’m sure you already know that part. Anyway, Corypheus’s dragon threw me around a bit and tore through my armor. And, as if that wasn’t enough, I had to jump through the wooden base where a trebuchet sat and, with my armor being useless at this point, the wood added on to the damage already done by the dragon. Oh, and the shoulder’s gone to shit from landing on it over and over again during that fight.” Her eyes remained fixated on the grain of the wood, and though her tone was light, the pain of every laceration, every fractured bone, every impact to her body pounded through her with each heartbeat. 

Throughout the story, Hawke watched her. The guilt he felt for the pain she endured was overwhelming; if he had truly defeated Corypheus, none of this would’ve happened. The temple wouldn’t have been destroyed, the Divine wouldn’t have been murdered, and Corinne wouldn’t have been thrust into the center of it all. He may have been the Champion of Kirkwall, but he never solved any of the city’s problems, he made them worse, just as he had for his siblings. Even now, his actions were still causing more issues.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” he said, pulling her attention to him. Her expression was one of confusion, and as much as he wanted to explain to her how it was all his fault, he didn’t want to put the thoughts in her mind. She already knew that he had faced and killed Corypheus, but she didn’t seem to blame him… not yet, at least. “You didn’t deserve anything that’s happened to you.” In fact, if Cassandra had her way, he would’ve been Inquisitor and he would have the burden and responsibility of this war, not her. Just one more regret to add on to that list. “Fuck,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

“What?” She was completely lost; whatever thoughts he’d been sifting through he kept to himself. “Um, anyway. Yeah, so, that’s what happened.”

He held her eyes with his, fighting the urge to reach out and wrap his arms around her and apologize, over and over until the words repeated themselves. Maybe if he said them enough, they’d make her forget everything that’s turned her life to shit. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, pushing himself off the bar stool, “I… I have to go. Here.” He tossed a few coins on the counter before turning for the door. Only Varric could handle him prattling on about his guilt, and right now, that’s what he needed. He needed his best friend.


End file.
